


In The Crosshairs

by tallestgirlonearth



Series: Barisi Crime AU's [2]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Barisi Genres & Tropes Challenge, Crimes & Criminals, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, at least sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29979186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tallestgirlonearth/pseuds/tallestgirlonearth
Summary: The Manhattan DA's office has tried for years to put Dominick Carisi Sr., head of one of the most powerful mob families in the city, behind bars, when they finally catch a break: A carefully staged operation delivers Sonny Carisi, the family's only son, into the hands of the NYPD.The younger man finally acquiesces to help them in their investigation, a decision that will affect him in ways he couldn't have possibly imagined.How will he handle the tightrope act of informing on the people who brought him up?And which role does ADA Rafael Barba play?
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Series: Barisi Crime AU's [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2195379
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26
Collections: Barisi Genres & Tropes Challenge





	In The Crosshairs

**Author's Note:**

> Another Crime story, I hear you ask? Why, yes, because I’m pretty unoriginal at times and may only get one idea at a time – but three different plots to go with it. There are literally so many possibilities for stories within the crime genre, so keep your eyes peeled for more.
> 
> Just so you know, I'm not from the States and don't have a background in law, so there may be some inaccuracies here. A bit of suspension of disbelief is needed to accept the ending at face value but hey, that's why this is called fanfiction :D  
> Finally, I have included an omc here: He is named Raúl for the man, the legend, Raúl Esparza himself. His paternal surname Tabares is actually part of the name of Raúl Esparza's own grandfather (there's an interesting clipping from the Miami News [here](https://www.newspapers.com/clip/18660605/the-miami-news/) ). Finally, the maternal surname Ochoa was inspired by Eliades Ochoa, a famous Cuban guitarist and singer, who's known to the non-Hispanic world thanks to his involvement with the Buena Vista Social Club. 
> 
> I think that's it, enjoy, and please leave a kudos/comment if you do :)

The squad and their ADA are crowded around a meeting table strewn with files. Mugshots are pinned to the whiteboard behind them, with lines drawn to illustrate connections. The meeting has gone on for hours, yet they are no closer to find a solution.

“We just don’t have enough evidence. One body and testimony by a witness will put the pimp behind bars, but it won’t convince a jury that there’s a mob connection. If you want me to go for the big guys, I need some cold hard proof that the Staten Island clans are involved. And I need you to work discretely, because I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how well-connected these people are, and if you cause too much of a stink we’ll be all transferred to work in New Jersey.”

The detectives frown at the ADA, but nobody protests his words.

“What we need is someone on the inside,” Officer Kat Tamin, the newest addition to the team, suggests.

Lieutenant Olivia Benson, leader of Manhattan’s Special Victims Unit, shakes her head. “Too dangerous. It would mean going deep undercover and we have neither the resources nor the training required to do that big of a job. Major Crimes do, but even if they went in, it would take too long. We want to take this to trial in a few weeks. Getting inside a mob family takes years.”

“You’re right about that, Lieu, but what if it wasn’t one of us?” That’s Sergeant Fin Tutuola, next to Liv the most senior detective on the squad. “If we can’t set up an op with one of us on the inside, maybe we can get one of them on the _outside._ ”

The ADA looks a lot more engaged than he has a few moments ago. “Go on, detective.”

“Well, we’ve done stuff like that before, haven’t we, it’s not that difficult. Do some research, find out who’s who and where the weaknesses are, get one of them in here under some pretext, and then we talk shop. They all have some dirt on them we can use as leverage.”

The Lieutenant mulls this over for a few seconds, then she grins.

“Fin, Tamin, I think it’s been a while since either of you have engaged with the wider public. I think it’s time for you to get out there and do a bit of traffic control.”

\---

It’s early June, the weather has been spectacular all week, and Sonny Carisi is blissfully happy just to be driving along the Belt Parkway and admiring the Manhattan Skyline from afar. The sun is just going down, a balmy summer breeze is ruffling his hair, and he’s looking forward to meet with some of his old college buddies for a night on the tiles.

It’s been so long since he last walked the streets of his home – both Staten Island and New York in general. He got his degree at Fordham, Global Business with a minor in Finance, and was set to start a really good entry-level job on Wall Street, but then things got ugly with some of his dad’s business ventures and Dominick Sr. decided it was best to send his only son off to Italy to spend time with some distant relatives.

Sonny’s never harboured any illusions about what it is that keeps the Carisis fed and happy. He’s known since the tender age of fourteen, when his dad sat him down and started with,

“You’re about to become a full-fledged member of the Church, mature in the eyes of our Lord, so I think it’s time for you to learn a bit more about the family and what’s expected of you once you finish your education.”

What followed was a very blunt explanation of what was always called “the firm” around the dinner table: a colourful portfolio of criminal activities, and it was expected that Sonny would one day take over the operations. In what could only be described a moment of incredible teenage stupidity, Sonny had protested.

“I don’t want to live my life skulking around in clubs, doing deals in the back room of some bar. And I don’t want to be stuck on Staten Island! No way!”

He’d expected a verbal lashing for that, but his father had just stared at him, hard, and asked what it was he wanted.

So Sonny got his wish. He finished high school in the top ten percentile, gone on to college and got a degree that could still be of some use to the Carisi family, and he had his father’s moderate assurance that he could have his own life, as long as he was ready to help the family out, should his expertise in business be needed.

It’s worked out very well, as anyone who observed Sonny would attest to. At first glance, they would see a handsome young man, no longer quite as brash as a teenager but with enough youthful energy to make him instantly likeable. Modest and well-spoken, but never hesitating to reach out and strike up a conversation. The life of the party when surrounded by friends. Someone whose character fit his nickname to a T, with a smile at the ready and a perpetually positive outlook on life.

Yeah, overall, Sonny’s pretty happy with his lot in life, and he can’t wait to have a cold beer and exchange stories with buddies he hasn’t seen in years. Now, if he can make it to the bar in time and not get bogged down by late rush hour traffic, he’ll be truly ecstatic.

\---

“How much longer do we have to stand here?” Fin complains. “I could be at home, having takeout and playing Counter Strike right now.”

“Really?” Kat asks, “that’s your idea of a quiet night in?”

“So what.” Fin shrugs. “Beats having to stand here, be yelled at by Wall Street jerks and sweat under these stupid uniforms. How the hell is it so goddamn warm, anyway.”

“Yeah, I hear ya.” Kat blinks into the setting evening sun. “But we have to wait until Carisi turns up, at least give him another ten minutes. My contact is usually spot on with her intel.”

Kat had used her old informants from Vice with connections to Manhattan’s underbelly of sex work to get basic details about the Carisi family, and from them had obtained the information that the family’s only son, Sonny Carisi, was back in town. Young, with a college degree, a liberal circle of friends and neither criminal record nor any known shady activities to speak of, the young Carisi seemed less than enamoured with his family’s business of choice, and thus was their safest bet to get an in with the family.

But first, they had to establish contact.

“Oh, hold up, there he comes, I think. Black Cadillac, New York license plate SC1 88J?”

“That’s him,” Fin confirms. “You good to go?”

“Let’s reel the fish in.” Kat replies with a determined nod.

\---

“Oh, come on!” Sonny explains when he sees the blue and red lights flashing, and bangs his hand on the steering wheel in frustration.

“Traffic control, really? On a Friday evening in midtown Manhattan?”

His previous good mood has all but evaporated, but when the officers in NYPD blue wave him over, he takes a deep breath and forces himself to appear calm and unruffled. This is probably nothing but a routine exercise, and complaining would only drag it out longer. Besides, he would bet a month’s salary that his name is somewhere in the police database, listed as a possible mobster, and he _really_ doesn’t want to give some detective the chance to dig deeper.

He has nothing to hide, but he knows what it’s like to be pigeonholed, because of his family background, his accent, his sexuality, the lot. Sometimes it’s worth it to fight back, but tonight he’s just a guy out on the town and he doesn’t want any hassle because of his surname.

An intimidating-looking guy walks towards his car. The other female officer by his side doesn’t look much friendlier, and she gestures at him to let the window down.

“Evening, officers. I hope I’m not in trouble?” Sonny jokes, trying to convey that it’s all good, he’s not looking for trouble and willing to cooperate.

“Good evening, Sir. Step out of the vehicle, please, and could you show us your papers?”

Turns out the male officer is exactly as no-nonsense as he looks. Sonny fumbles for his license and registration certificate and hands it over to the guy, while the woman stalks around his car.

“Where ya headed, man?” the guy asks, and Sonny shrugs, giving him a slight smile.

“Just into town, meeting some buddies at a bar. Nothing special.”

He gets a noncommittal hum as a reply, and then they just wait in silence for the female officer to finish inspecting the car. So far, nobody has commented on Sonny’s name, and he feels vaguely confident that he might get out of here soon.

The woman comes back, and speaks to her colleague in a low murmur.

“Your papers seem to be in order, Mr. Carisi, but didn’t you notice your tail light is broken?”

Shit. Sonny hasn’t driven the car in months. He doesn’t know whether anything is broken, or whether this is a shakedown of some sort. Both alternatives are entirely possible. He decides to handle this the same way he handles everything – with politeness and honesty.

“Uh, no, I haven’t. I’m really sorry. I haven’t driven this car in a while and just took it out for the drive today. I didn’t think to check. Sorry.”

The woman looks decidedly unimpressed by his apologies.

“That may be, but it’s not an excuse. Those kinds of defects can cause serious accidents, especially in Manhattan traffic.”

Sonny hangs his head.

“I understand, and I’m really sorry. Am I gonna get a ticket now?”

The man shakes his head. “Sorry, man. You and your car are coming with us to the precinct.”

Okay. Sonny is no fool and he’s well aware that traffic violations such as his don’t usually end up at a precinct, especially not if it’s his first infraction.

Definitely a shakedown, then.

The ride to the precinct is silent. Sonny briefly contemplates calling his lawyer, but he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself. Bringing in the big guns right from the start certainly wouldn’t help maintaining his innocence. He’s heard enough war stories from family members to know that the cops treat anyone who lawyers up quickly with even more suspicion.

He’s ushered out of the car in front of an unassuming-looking building, the letters NEW YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT 16th PRECINCT displayed on a plaque next to the entrance.

Well, at least he knows where he is, now.

The officers lead him through a bullpen full of people in plain clothes and into what looks like a meeting room. The male officer gestures at a chair and tells him to sit.

“The lieutenant will be with you right away.”

Sonny sits, and waits.

About five minutes later, the door is pushed open and two women, one brunette and one blonde, step inside.

“Mr. Carisi, thank you for your patience. My name is Olivia Benson, lieutenant here at SVU, and this is Detective Rollins.”

Sonny looks at the brunette, taken aback.

“SVU? I was taken in for a traffic violation. What am I doing here?”

Neither of the two detectives show the slightest emotional reaction. Instead, they sit down opposite from Sonny, and the blonde woman, Detective Rollins, leans towards him.

“Technically, you weren’t taken in, Mr. Carisi. You’re here voluntarily.”

Sonny snorts.

“Like that’s ever true. Let’s get to the point. You pulled me over and brought me here to SVU. You have my name. So what the hell do you want?”

\---

“How’s it going?” Fin asks Amanda as she steps out of the conference room. “Carisi spilling the beans yet?”

Amanda shakes her head in frustration.

“Nah. He’s talking all right, keeps insisting that he doesn’t know jack shit about his father’s business, that he never wanted anything to do with it.”

Fin hums. “Y’know, maybe that’s true? He definitely seemed a bit too goody-two-shoes when we pulled him over.”

Amanda rolls her eyes. “Yeah, and how many perps you arrested actually looked like a serial rapist? Anyway, that’s not the point. Point is, Carisi is a core member of one of the state’s most powerful crime families and it doesn’t matter whether he is directly involved or not. He has some intel, at the very least, and if he doesn’t share it with us, he’s no better than any of them.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for here is complicity, Detective Rollins,” a voice drily interjects.

Amanda gives their ADA a look.

“Thanks, Barba, I had no idea.”

Barba nods towards the conference room. “He’s not talking?”

“No,” Amanda shakes her head, “he’s not responding to anything Liv and I told him. Just maintains his innocence and that he wants no part in a secret op of any kind. Hell, I even laid on the charm, batted my lashes at him some. That usually softens ‘em up, y’know, when they think they can help a lady out.”

Barba barks out a laugh.

“Is that so? Well, if he’s not susceptible to fluttering eyelashes, maybe I should go in there and give him the cold hard facts.”

“Be my guest,” Amanda says. “I’m sure Liv would welcome the help, we’re all getting a little frustrated here.”

\---

“For the hundredth time, Lieutenant, I never have taken any part in my father’s business nor will I ever. I got out of Staten Island as soon as I could, I’ve only just returned home. Hell, I haven’t even been in the country the past four years. I can’t help you, why would you even think that?”

Sonny leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. Him and Benson have been at it for what feels like hours, and they’re getting nowhere. He wants to go home, and think long and hard about whether New York really is the right place for him. If this is what happens on the first evening he drives into Manhattan, there’s no telling what other stunts NYPD might pull, and he just doesn’t want to be caught up in any of that. He didn’t fight his father so hard for his independence, only to have the cops drag him back into the mire, albeit for different reasons. Besides, it just doesn’t feel right to rat out his family like that. They’ve been good to him, mostly, and the thought of informing on any one of them makes Sonny feel slightly nauseous. Deceit and betrayal just isn’t in his nature.

The door opens and then closes again.

“That’s an interesting question you’re asking, Mr. Carisi. Why ever would we think you could help us?”

The newcomer’s voice is male, clear and strong, and it rings through the room like a bell.

Sonny turns his head towards the man moving to stand behind Benson, and feels his breath being knocked out of his lungs.

“Mr. Carisi, this is our ADA, Rafael Barba. He has prosecuted most of the cases related to your family’s…activities.”

Sonny knows that he’s staring, but he can’t help himself.

The man in front of him is dressed so well that any Italian tailor would weep with joy. A slate grey three-piece suit hugs a strong body to perfection, the white shirt brings out the man’s darker skin and his intense green eyes, there’s not a hair out of place – in short, Sonny wants to grab him by the fancy, matching tie, wants to feel the silk between his fingers and drag the man down for a messy makeout session.

Jesus. He hasn’t reacted to a man this viscerally in…forever, probably.

And the look in Barba’s eyes makes his knees go even weaker.

To cover up how shaky and affected he is, Sonny forces himself to meet the ADA’s gaze and speak up.

“Well, if you’re this experienced, counsellor, you shouldn’t need me.”

Barba’s eyes narrow, but it’s the Lieutenant who replies.

“Your father always managed to get to the witnesses. As soon as they were on the stand, they all had foggy memories. We need more proof. Concrete evidence, preferably written documents or phone conversations. Inside knowledge.”

“Which brings us to your question, Mr. Carisi. Why we think that you could help us.”

Barba sits down and leans across the table. His eyes pin Sonny down, and there is absolutely no way of evading that gaze, or the words that follow.

“You have no record with the NYPD or any other police department, and there have never been even the slightest rumblings about shady dealings on your part. You’ve kept your nose remarkably clean, so I’m guessing you came to some kind of arrangement with your father in order to stay out of the business.”

Barba is spot on, but Sonny can’t give anything away. He can’t give up what little leverage he has, can’t let the ADA realise that he’s figured Sonny out in a matter of seconds.

“So, for argument’s sake, let’s assume your father let you go off to college, unburdened by your family’s reputations. You obtained your degree in Global Business, with a minor in Finance. That’s a very prudent choice. Someone with a good grasp on management and revenue streams will always find employment, and he could surely offer some advice for family members looking to diversify their investments. Does that sound about right?”

Sonny remains silent. Whatever he does or doesn’t say, Barba has his number. And he knows that Barba knows.

“So you see, Mr. Carisi, you may not be aware of the minutiae of your father’s transactions, but you know enough. You can give us an insight into his accounts, his investments, the works. And once we have that, we can connect the accounts to the people involved, and untangle the whole web. We just need to unravel one thread.”

“And that’s me,” Sonny says quietly.

Liv nods. “That’s you.”

Sonny picks at his cuticles, an old habit that always surfaces in high-stress situations.

“You do realise that you’re still talking about my family here? The people who raised me, put food on the table, who _let me go off to college,_ as you put it. Doesn’t matter how they earn their money, they’ve got good hearts.”

“Doesn’t _matter”?_

Liv sounds incensed, but it’s the ADA who grabs her file and starts spreading out pictures in front of Sonny.

“Deanna Suarez, 23, a mule. Forced to work for your family because she was illegal. Shot because she used part of the profits to pay a coyote to bring her son to the States. That boy will never see his mother again.

Lee Manzaniello, 45, a bouncer at a downtown club. Wanted to help his brother out, who couldn’t pay the fees for your family’s protection racket anymore. Beaten to death by Ricky Salvatore and Tony Merino. Tony’s your cousin, isn’t he?

Arielle Portman, 19, a runaway from small-town Indiana who dreamed of the big city. Started to work as a waitress at La Luna, then was pimped out by the restaurant’s manager. He let his friends gang-rape her until she was bleeding all over, then they tossed her in with the garbage. La Luna belongs to your uncle, doesn’t it?

Look at them, Mr. Carisi. Those are the people your family uses and exploits. Those are the people who died because they crossed your family. Do you think they don’t matter? Do you think Deanna’s son doesn’t deserve to go to college? Do you think it’s fair that Lee got killed because he wanted to help his brother? Do you think Arielle deserved to get abused because she wasn’t satisfied with an average life, because she dared to dream?”

Sonny sits frozen in his chair, utterly shell-shocked by the pictures he is seeing, by the stories Barba all but hurled in his face. Stories about family members going to bat for each other, supporting each other, just like him and his parents and siblings and cousins. Only those people in the photos ended up dead, while his family are thriving.

Barba leans back, calm again.

“Tell me, Mr. Carisi, now that you know what you’ve wilfully blinded yourself to for all these years – do you really think that someone who can orchestrate all this is a good person? That anyone who is complicit in destroying so many lives deserves your protection?”

The silence that follows is deafening. Sonny stares at the pictures in front of him for God knows how long, trying to reconcile the side of his father that’s happy and boisterous at Sunday dinners with the side that orders murders and exploits helpless young mothers.

He can’t.

Just like he can’t ignore the guilt screaming inside him that he ignored all of this, just because it served him better to be clueless, footloose and fancy free.

When Sonny gazes back up at Barba, his eyes are watery.

“What do you need me to do?”

\---

“Why exactly am I here?” Rafael grouses, taking a big gulp of scaldingly hot coffee.

At least the SVU detectives have the good sense to bribe him with food and hot beverages, unlike defense attorneys, but even properly caffeinated he wonders why it is necessary for him to sit on most of Amanda’s meetings with their newest informant on the inside.

“You’re here because we need you to make an assessment whether Carisi’s intel will be any good in court, and if so, how we will use it. Do you think I want to spend hours listening to his business blabber only to find out none of it is admissible?”

Rafael harrumphs. It’s true that being able to hear the intel straight from the source is helpful – he can immediately tell what will help their case, where they need more, and what they should leave alone lest their informant is made – but to be quite honest, he doesn’t know how to deal with Carisi’s continued presence.

The first time Rafael heard of the man, it was easy to write the man off as an airhead, or even worse, as an accessory before and after the fact. After all, Carisi spent years turning a blind eye to his family’s activities, just so he could live unburdened, and Rafael had no patience for men like him. But then they met, and Carisi crumbled under the weight of Rafael’s words and look. Truth be told, Rafael couldn’t believe Carisi flipped this easily; he’d expected more bullheaded insistences as to the man’s innocence, and perhaps a fit of petulance brought forward by injured pride, but nothing like that happened. Instead, Carisi listened attentively, his gaze fixed first on the grisly crime scene photos and then on Rafael, guilt written all over his face.

Now, two or so months later, nothing much has changed, except maybe that Carisi has let go of the guilt and chooses to help them out of rage and a desire to right some of the wrongs his family committed. He said as much at their last meeting, leaning across the table in Rafael’s office, clear blue eyes wide and earnest.

“I know I shoulda done something earlier, but I can’t change the past, no matter how sorry I am. So I wanna help you now, counsellor, I really do. Whatever you need to know.”

Carisi really is remarkably open about his motivations and feelings, and Rafael is torn between wanting to hold on to the rage the younger man initially provoked in him, and allowing himself to recognise that maybe, just maybe, Sonny Carisi is the only person in his family with a kind heart and good intentions. He feels himself softening towards the other man, ill-advised though it may be, and having to spend at least an hour every two weeks face to face with puppy eyes and very vocal, very candid appreciation of his legal skills doesn’t help.

Rafael and Amanda are both shaken out of their musings by the sound of rapid steps approaching.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry, detective, counsellor! My nonna wouldn’t let me get away, but hey, at least I got pastries. Who wants some fresh zeppoli?”

Amanda immediately makes grabby hands, but Rafael rolls his eyes.

“You are aware that this is a work meeting and not afternoon tea?”

Carisi blushes, but meets Rafael’s gaze with a grin.

“Well, yeah, of course counsellor, your outfits are a dead giveaway. Although I suppose you’d be the guy to rock a three-piece suit for any kind of social engagement.”

Rafael lifts an eyebrow. How often exactly does Carisi contemplate his sartorial choices?

Again, there is a rosy tint on the younger man’s cheeks, and this time he keeps his eyes downcast and walks over to a chair.

“Anyway, the point is that we need sustenance, even at work, and you’re so busy, I doubt you get a lot of regular meals.”

Before Rafael can offer another comment about Carisi’s mother-henning tendencies, Amanda interjects,

“Yeah, you’d be right about that. Thanks, Carisi.”

She cuts Rafael a curious look, but, mercifully, seems to decide they’ve had enough small talk for now.

“So, where are we at? Carisi, do you have anything for us about the potential deal with the nightclub owner in the Bowery?”

The man shrugs.

“I couldn’t find any reference in my dad’s records, but Uncle Sal owns some property about two blocks away from the club, so I’ve been thinking whether this could be the connection…”

They talk and exchange ideas for over two hours, and by the end of their meeting, Rafael is well-fed and exceedingly pleased with the direction of the investigation. Carisi’s intel gives them enough for a warrant on Uncle Sal’s accounts, and who knows, maybe this will open more possibilities to untangle the whole family’s operations. Carisi readily agrees to keep up with his inconspicuous digging, and they part ways with another meeting set for two weeks from now.

“That went really well, don’t you think, counsellor?” Rollins asks after Carisi has left the room.

Rafael nods.

“It pains me to admit it, but Mr. Carisi is a good source. He certainly seems to know what information is just white noise and what is actually useful.”

Amanda hums thoughtfully.

“He does, doesn’t he? And he seems very eager to prove it to you.”

Rafael snorts. “Oh, I’m pretty sure Carisi would give anyone the puppy-dog routine. Being helpful seems to come second nature to him. It’s probably all that Catholicism.”

“Oh, come on, counsellor, I have eyes.”

At her disbelieving tone, Rafael looks up, even though he really doesn’t want this discussion to continue.

“When we first brought him into the precinct after that traffic control, me and Liv kept at him for ages. We pleaded, we rationalised, we gave him incentives, we did the good-cop-bad-cop routine, I flirted a little, every tactic in the book. He wouldn’t budge. But then you walk in, and all of a sudden he’s falling over himself to give us what we want. And it wasn’t just this once, every time we meet, he looks at you like you hung the moon. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that he tries to look out for you – it’s always, _counsellor, have a cannolo; counsellor, have you tried this new café on Bleecker Street? They have Cuban coffee; you look tired, counsellor, you feel the full moon too?_ ”

Amanda’s imitation of Carisi is spot on, unfortunately, and she knows it, because she gives Rafael a teasing grin.

“You’ve got a fan, counsellor! Like I said, he wouldn’t give Liv or me the time of day, but if you ask me, he’s crushing on you.”

Despite her weakness for gossip, Amanda is not one to exaggerate, and Rafael has always appreciated her shrewd eye. If she says that Carisi’s appreciation is not entirely professional in nature, there’s likely some truth in it.

And Rafael is fucked in so many ways.

The mere existence of this crush could be enough to cast reasonable doubt on Sonny’s intel, and tank several months’ of investigating. If that wasn’t bad enough already, Rafael’s own reputation could take a serious hit if anyone found out that he’s _that ADA the young mobster guy from Staten Island is tripping over his feet for._ Rafael is out, but the DA’s office is a conservative environment, and he has always kept his private life away from the workplace for a reason. That and the stress of his chosen profession have made Rafael a pretty lonely man, but ever since he first laid eyes on Sonny Carisi, he’s felt lighter and happier than he has in years – after just a few meetings.

And that is the biggest reason why Rafael needs to shut Rollins’ line of thinking down immediately.

“That’s absurd, detective. Carisi’s an impressionable young guy, and working with us is his chance to alleviate the guilt he feels over ignoring his family’s criminal activities for so long.”

Rollins laughs at his dour tone.

“I think you’re overestimating the age difference here. Carisi isn’t a twink he’s, what, ten years or so younger than you? Besides, if guilt was the only motivator here, he wouldn’t have a reason to be so chipper every time he gets to sit in the same room with you. I’ve seen him in other settings and let me tell you, he acts differently then. C’mon, counsellor, don’t be upset, it’s cute.”

Jesus. Rollins really watches too much bad reality TV, so much that she apparently can’t understand the ramifications just the slightest hint of impropriety could have for their case. She should know better, especially since she herself has already been accused of flirting with a witness to get a favourable testimony.

Rafael feels the anger in him rising.

“No, detective, it is not. It’s ridiculous, unfounded, and _dangerous_. Need I remind you of the consequences we would face if just one juror thinks our intel is tainted by the informant’s desire to please the prosecution?”

His voice is cold and sharp; the kind of tone he only rarely uses when he wants his counterpart to know that they cannot rely on any kind of goodwill or forbearance on his part. The kind of tone he uses to build up all his walls in an instant, to signal an end to any kind of discussion.

Rollins knows it well enough not to fight him in such moments.

There’s a brief flicker of something – annoyance, disappointment, pity even? – in her eyes, but then she holds her hands up in surrender.

“Alright, counsellor, I hear ya.”

Rafael nods brusquely.

“See that your colleagues get the drift as well. We have all worked too hard and too long on this case to have it blow up now.”

Rollins takes the implicit dismissal for what it is, and leaves with a wave. Only when Rafael is certain she’s out of sight and earshot does he allow himself to sink into his chair with a sigh.

In order to throw Rollins off, he’s played the stern and unapproachable lawyer to perfection, but he’s not in the habit of lying to himself: Sonny Carisi affects him a lot more than he should. It’s one thing to feel re-energised and happy after a conversation with a handsome and intelligent younger man, but it’s another to start imagining other scenarios they might find themselves in, alone with each other. More than once, Rafael has wondered whether Carisi would have the same impact on him if they’d just bumped into each other somewhere in the city - perhaps during a silly meet-cute in the queue at a coffee shop, or wherever it was that people met each other – and the answer is always a resounding _yes_ , worryingly so. He knows better than to indulge in what-ifs, and it’s a bad sign that he does it anyway; that after yet another long hard day, he crawls into bed thinking about blue eyes and a wide smile, and wishes that Carisi were anybody else, just so the thought of something developing between them wouldn’t be so impossibly forbidden.

\---

They continue this song and dance for another two months, long enough that Rafael has the time to build a strong case. By the time the requisite arrests have been made and the trial date is set, Rafael’s mind and heart are overwhelmed by how much he sees of Carisi these days. They’ve even had dinner at some off-the-grid Thai place together to discuss trial prep. Carisi won’t testify in open court, but he may be called into chambers or have to tape a statement at some point, and it’s not like Rafael can just invite him to the DA’s office, like he would do with any other witness. Meeting out in the open in the city is difficult enough, but SVU decided early on that it was preferable to phone calls or emails, which could be hacked and traced too easily. Furthermore, all of them were experienced in handling witnesses and informants, so the risks seemed calculable.

Still, Rafael will breathe easier once the trial is over. What he’ll do without any credible excuse to see Sonny is another matter, one he bans to the farthest corner of his mind.

Voir dire for the jury starts tomorrow, so Rafael has gone home early. He needs to have all his wits about tomorrow, and he can prep his question list just as well on his comfortable couch, with a good scotch and some Beny Moré playing in the background.

He’s so exhausted after weeks and weeks of building a case against the Carisi family that he almost drifts off despite the lively Latin beat in the background, but the ringing of his phone jolts him back to full consciousness.

“Barba.”

“Rafa, we have a problem.”

Liv sounds grave, and there is an underlying note of panic in her voice that has Rafael sitting up straight. Olivia Benson is not one to panic, she keeps her cool under even the most taxing of circumstances, so whatever the problem is, it has to be a big one indeed.

“What’s going on? Do you need me to come in?”

“I don’t know yet, Rafa, it’s…it’s Carisi. He got made.”

“What?!”

“We don’t know how it happened yet. What we do know is that he was on his way home, turning the corner to his apartment building, and there were several people waiting for him – he immediately called us and told Rollins that he knows the guys, they’re hired muscle. He hid out at the precinct all day and his phone blew up with messages, various cousins threatening to stab him out in the street, and other nasty stuff.”

Rafael feels like a cold hand has wrapped around his heart and squeezed, and his worry is not only for the trial that’s suddenly on very shaky legs.

“Shit.”

He rarely ever curses, but there’s nothing else he can think of saying right now.

“I concur”, Liv replies. “Carisi still wants to help out, but to be honest nobody is really sure how he can. The Deputy Chief is working on getting him into witness protection right now, he’s already been whisked off to a safehouse.”

“Good”, Rafael says fervently. “Keep him there. Keep him incommunicado, we can’t afford having anyone find out about his location. And don’t tell anyone where he is, including me. The less people know, the better. Everything I need for the trial, I’ll tell you or the guys assigned to his protection.”

On the other end of the phone, Liv sighs, and when she speaks again, she sounds less despondent and more determined than before.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. Probably our only one.”

\---

Sonny feels like climbing the walls.

Eight days.

Eight days ago, he found his father’s hired hitmen waiting for him at his apartment block.

Eight days ago, he got put into a safe house somewhere in Manhattan, without even the slightest clue as to which neighbourhood he is in.

Seven days ago, he was told that he could have no communication to the outside at all, not even with the detectives and the ADA working his family’s case. Apart from the Witness Protection guys, only the Lieutenant is in the loop.

Five days ago, she came by to inform him personally that his testimony would be taped, and then played at the trial. No taking the stand, no cross-examination, no opportunity for him to get killed on his way to and from the courthouse.

That last bit of news blows especially, because he clung to the hope that he could be there in person – to see his family go down for the crimes they committed, and to witness ADA Barba doing it. Now, in all likelihood, he’ll never see the prosecutor again.

Jesus.

Sonny rubs his eyes tiredly. The stress of having his life thrown into ever more turmoil has been getting to him. His appetite is practically gone, and he’s been suffering bouts of insomnia. What makes it worse is that every time he closes his eyes, his mind supplies him with an endless stream of images: Rafael Barba talking to him that first time, so sternly and passionately; looking at him with his forest green eyes sparkling intently; leaning across the table in his office, a pleased expression on his beautiful face, to thank him for delivering vital information.

Rafael Barba is the most gorgeous man Sonny has ever met. His beauty is obvious and threatens to leave Sonny speechless every single time, but there is more to the man. His kindness is what truly turns Sonny inside out. It’s not a quality to notice straightaway, because the man’s everyday attitude is so acerbic and brusque, but Sonny has spent long hours at the DA’s office, and he knows that Barba hides a good heart underneath the bluster and the three-piece suits. Why else would he fight tooth and nail for the victims? Why else would he give Sonny the chance to redeem himself, instead of dismissing him as a wilfully ignorant airhead?

It was more than Sonny hoped for, certainly more than he deserved.

Hell, Rafael Barba is _more everything._

And Sonny burns to tell him. He’s been aware of his deepening feelings towards the ADA for some time, but recent developments have sparked a new kind of urgency in him.

He’s been told yesterday that he will be given a new identity and has to leave the city. But he simply _cannot_ do that without letting Barba know what he means to him.

He reaches to the burner phone his protection detail left behind with the stern order to only ever call the two numbers saved on speed dial, and presses one.

“Hi, it’s Sonny, sorry to bother you, Lieutenant. Uh, yeah, it’s going alright. My babysitter came by yesterday and told me they’ll get me out of New York soon…yes, before the trial. Apparently, the sooner the better. Yeah, I know. It’s okay, I mean, there’s nothing to be done about it, not if I want to live…”

Listening to Benson’s assurances that he’s doing the right thing, he makes up his mind and tells her the reason for calling.

“Um, if I had some unfinished business…I mean, I’m not allowed to speak to anyone, or call anyone, but if I had stuff I needed to say to some people, could I write a letter? And could you pass it on?”

Benson’s hesitating, so Sonny decides to go all in.

“Listen, Lieutenant, you know the person I want to write this letter to. And I think you already know who they are without me telling you. You can wait until I’m out of town, just to be sure, but could you pass it on?”

A brief moment of silence, and then Benson acquiesces. Sonny thanks her, and then quickly ends the call.

He has words to commit to paper, and is fast running out of time to do so.

\---

Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?”

The foreperson stands up and answers with a clear, ringing voice. “We have, your honour.”

“What say you?”

The courtroom is so silent you could hear a pin drop – the victims’ families, law enforcement employees, journalists and assorted family members of the defendants all waiting with bated breath.

“On eight counts of bribery in the first degree, we find the defendant, Dominick Carisi Sr., guilty. On three counts of witness tampering in the first degree, we find the defendant guilty. On one count of criminal solicitation, we find the defendant…guilty.”

Before the judge can thank the jury for their services and adjourn until sentencing, a veritable riot of noise breaks out. The defendant’s supporters get up and shout protests and insults, and the journalists badger anyone within reach for a soundbite.

Rafael, however, is only faintly aware of his surroundings. He feels like he’s wrapped up in clouds, mind somewhere else entirely.

This slew of guilty verdicts is a resounding success for the DA’s office, and for him personally. He took it upon himself to bring Dominick Carisi down, and he did it, despite the prevailing opinion that it was impossible. Now, his name will forever be attached to one of the biggest cases against the mob New York has seen in recent decades.

He doesn’t feel victorious, though, just exhausted.

And empty.

This victory isn’t just his. It belongs to the victims and their families, who supported the investigation and voluntarily relived their worst nightmares during testimony. It belongs to SVU and the other NYPD detectives who worked the case and offered valuable time and information. It belongs to one man especially, who sacrificed his entire life for this case.

God, how Rafael wishes Sonny could be here today.

Someone touches his shoulder, and Rafael looks up into Olivia’s smiling face. Upon seeing his own undoubtedly subdued expression, the smile fades a little.

“Hey, Rafa, you okay? You did a fantastic job today!”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m okay, Liv”, he replies, and he hates how tired he sounds to his own ears. He used to be better at hiding his feelings, but years of loneliness and weeks of missing the only person who ever made him feel good and whole, have whittled away at his defences. “It’s just taken a really long time, you know?”

Liv nods sympathetically. As a lieutenant, she’s all too familiar with the pressure of having to lead her detectives well, deliver a result that will satisfy the higher-ups, and try not to upset public opinion at the same time. It’s a delicate balancing act and she can see how hard it weighs on Rafael, who is the one having to deliver in the courtroom and in front of the microphones, constantly under scrutiny.

“Go home, Rafa. You’ve done enough, you deserve some time for yourself.”

Rafael nods and gives Liv a weak smile, but he remains seated at the prosecution table even after she has left, and her steps echo down the hallway.

Time for himself.

Hah.

He doesn’t want any, he’s had decades of it.

Seemingly on autopilot, he opens his briefcase and takes out a piece of paper from the side pocket.

It’s slightly creased and even has one or two stains from coffee and greasy take-out, because Rafael has carried the letter around ever since he received it. He’s read it once a day, with a hundred emotions warring in his chest, and today is no exception.

_~~Counselor,…~~ _

_~~Mr. Barba,…~~ _

The first letters are crossed out with forcible penstrokes, like the auhor was frustrated that he couldn’t find the right salutation. And finally,

_Dear Rafael,…_

Just reading these two words for the first time made Rafael gasp aloud. No matter the thoughts and emotions each man bottled up on the inside, when speaking to each other they had always clung to a veneer of professionalism. Seeing his first name committed to paper in another man’s handwriting certainly wasn’t the beginning of Rafael’s undoing, but it marked the start of a new life for him.

_I’m sure you’re rolling your eyes right now, and wondering how a grown-up man can mess up the start of a letter. You’re a lawyer, words are your tools of trade, and for as long as I’ve known you, you always had the right ones._

_It’s funny. I write “for as long as I’ve known you” and I feel like it has been ages, when in truth it’s been no more than a couple months. But time has a way of passing differently when something meaningful happens. First it slows down, and then it speeds up._

_As hard as the past weeks have been, trying to help you while staying alive in the middle of a family who would kill me for betraying them, it was the first time ever that I felt truly alive. That I wasn’t just swimming in the current, but actually doing something and affecting people in a positive way._

_The lessons I learned about my family were tough, but they gave me new perspective._

_Yeah, I can hear you saying that having to come to Manhattan so often sure would be a fresh breeze for a Staten Island boy and you’re not wrong there. I have been sheltered, and pampered, in some way for my whole life._

_Which is why it means so much to me that I could help you out on this case. I mean, I know I gave you valuable testimony, and although I’m no longer going to be around when it’s time for sentencing, I sincerely hope it was enough. So you definitely got something out of the deal we made._

_But, and I don’t know whether you realised that, you gave me something as well._

_Your time._

_Your insights on the legal system, from another angle than the one I was used to hearing._

_Your trust._

_You trusted me to give you the information you needed. You trusted me to keep the secret and not become a double agent of sorts, and I know that definitely must have been a leap of faith._

_You believed that there was more to me than the side I showed at our first meeting, when I was shocked, and upset, and petulant. You put your case in my hands and your trust in my capability to become a better man._

_I don’t know whether I’m there yet, but I have changed, and it’s all thanks to you._

_A couple of years ago I would have been satisfied with an easy life, appeasing my family and doing what I wanted when they weren’t looking._

_Now, I don’t even know what kind of life I’m going to have, but that’s okay. I’ve done a good thing, and I guess now I just have to have faith that everything will be alright in the end._

_I’m going to be honest, Rafael. Keeping the faith is pretty hard for me right now, because just yesterday they told me that I’m going to be given a new identity. I have to leave New York, the only home I’ve ever known._

_Yeah, I know, informing on my family was always gonna be dangerous, but it worked for so long that I genuinely believed they would never know who helped the NYPD, and I could just live my life._

_I had plans for that life._

_I was gonna move to Manhattan for good, find my own place and have as much of a fresh start as I could._

_I was gonna work in Finance, but not as a big-time broker. No, I thought about setting up a business that would help small, struggling shops and services. It doesn’t feel right anymore to be one of the big fish cannibalising the smaller ones. I wanna help._

_I was gonna ask you out for coffee._

_There it is. I was gonna ask you out, hoping you’d say yes, hoping to convince you that I’m not only a decent informant, but funny (if a little dorky, but you already know that), a fantastic cook, an endless font of knowledge on useless pop culture facts to brighten up your day…_

_I was hoping to convince you that your trust in me wasn’t misplaced, and that maybe, someday, you could trust me with your heart._

_You have mine already. You probably don’t know that._

_But now I have to leave, and all of those plans are gone. I’ll have to make new ones, in a place far far away way from here, but I can’t move on without telling you what you mean to me._

_No, that’s bullshit.I don’t know if I can move on at all._

_I love you, Rafael Barba._

_I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you before, but it just never felt like the right time. Hell, it’s definitely not the right time now, but time’s a precious commodity anyway and what good would it do waiting for a moment that will never come, now that I’m not allowed to ever see you again?_

_I just want you to know._

_You’re a beautiful, brilliant, and good man, and you’re always so hard on yourself. I’ve seen you work countless hours of overtime, never thinking what you’re doing is good enough._

_As useless and ridiculous as this confession is, I hope that at least you can live your life, knowing now that you’ll always be more than enough for me. That you’ll always be loved._

_Stay safe, counsellor. And don’t drink too much coffee, you’re always twitchy as hell._

_Yours,_

_Sonny_

Rafael gently runs his fingers over the paper, hearing it crackle faintly underneath his fingertips. He has tears in his eyes, but a soft smile on his face. Reading that letter front to back, three times in a row, was the first step away from the DA’s office for Rafael. Reading it once every day since only solidified his determination.

He carefully folds the letter and puts it into his coat pocket, takes his briefcase and walks out of the courtroom. He doesn’t look back.

\---

It’s a balmy spring day in Miami’s Little Havana neighbourhood. The streets are busy with cars and people, everybody gearing up for Carnaval and the most important day for every resident, the Calle Ocho Festival.

Businesses order fresh goods, hotels have to organise hundreds of bookings, AirBnB owners brace themselves for the influx of many Cuban-Americans from the rest of the country, dozens of community meetings take place to determine who will cook what, who will serve drinks and where to get the licenses, and who will take care of the parade.

Throughout those hectic but cheerful days, the most important commodity is a hot, strong cup of coffee to keep everyone going through the day. There are a lot of places that serve coffee, but _Café Soleado,_ a recent opening just off Calle Ocho on Carlos Arboleya Boulevard, has become something of a favourite for many.

It’s not a big place, but its simple interior with lots of plants and wooden furniture with colourful cushions and blankets make everyone feel at home. The food is to die for, and offers a very interesting variety of choices. Each day the resident cook, or rather baker, a tall man with dark blonde hair and striking blue eyes, prepares delicious Cubanos and focaccia, bombolones and pastelitos with guava filling, effortlessly blending Cuban and Italian cuisine. While he’s working in the kitchen or bringing food to the guests, a dark-haired older man handles the coffee machine with expertise, preparing lattes and cafecitos like it’s second nature to him. All the while, the two men entertain each other and their customers with a steady stream of playful, sarcastic banter. Their constant back and forth draws many laughs, and more than one private observation by one of the more astute patrons as to how perfectly they are attuned to each other.

Raúl Tabares Ochoa has been coming to _Café Soleado_ ever since it opened, both because of the atmosphere and because their coffee is, quite frankly, the best one around. As a regular, he is greeted with welcome familiarity as he takes his place in the queue.

“Good morning, Raúl”, the blond man says cheerfully, “your usual?”

“Morning, Sonny, sure. But give me a second of everything, please? My son’s with me today.”

“On it”, Sonny replies. “Hey, Raf, you got that?”

The man behind register rolls his eyes.

“I’m not deaf yet, Sonny, although with the way you shout across the whole damn room, I may be getting there soon enough.”

Sonny laughs, and Raúl leans on the counter with a grin.

“How’s it going, Rafael? Gringuitos from out of town drive you nuts with their soy lattes yet?”

It’s a familiar joke between them. Rafael is from out of state, but he is as Cuban-American as can be and he takes pride in his roots. Tourists ordering frothy decaf drinks when they could have Cuban coffee instead is an affront the barista always grouses about.

“Ugh, don’t get me started. Sonny loves all the new faces in here during the festival, I can’t wait for when it’s over and we get back to the old swing of things.”

Rafael deposits two to-go cups on the counter and rings up the bill. Just then, Sonny comes over with the pastelitos in a brown paper bag.

“Here ya go, Raúl. Is Raf complaining about the festival again?”

“I’m not complaining, I’m simply stating facts”, the other man immediately shoots back. “Don’t even pretend like you’re not annoyed by millennials stomping in here and asking if you have gluten-free options. Or worse, when they wanna know exactly how much butter goes into the dough for the sfogliatella.”

“Yeah, yeah”, Sonny laughs, “I concede defeat. Some people need to have more respect for the people who slave in the kitchen or behind the bar.”

As per usual, Raúl observers their back-and-forth.

“You know, the two of you would have made amazing TV lawyers. Those guys who shout in the courtroom, decimating each other’s cases and sniping at their own clients.”

For a brief second, something passes over Sonny’s and Rafael’s faces. A shadow of reminiscence, slightly dulling the sparkle in their eyes, but it’s over before Raúl can voice the apology on his tongue.

“Oh, no”, Rafael says, and he’s smiling at Sonny with affection written plainly across his face. “I think we’re exactly where we are meant to be.”

“Raf-“ Sonny says, voice slightly raspy with emotion.

Raúl takes this as his cue to get back to his car, leaving twenty dollars behind on the counter – a healthy tip for his two favourite purveyors of breakfast.

When he turns back for a brief moment, he can see Rafael on his toes, pressing a soft and lingering kiss to Sonny’s lips. The younger man immediately responds by wrapping his arms around Rafael like he never wants to let go.

The other customers in line, used to these little moments, simply smile and wait.

It’s a sunny day in Miami, and life is good.


End file.
